


one lie, two truths

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Chapter and Verse (Varric Tethras x Min Hawke) [22]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Crestwood, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: Crestwood is a wretched and rainy place to admit one's feelings, but Varric never did do the romance thing all that well.(He's pretty good at the parts that come after talking, though.)





	one lie, two truths

**Author's Note:**

> Q: What do two liars do when pressed up against the wall? 
> 
> a) Admit their feelings  
> b) Kiss  
> c) @#*@!  
> d) All of the above
> 
> The correct answer for Varric and Min Hawke? D. It's all about the D. *rimshot*

Crestwood.  It was full of ragweed and mugwort and probably twelve other obnoxious plants that all aimed to make his nose drip, even if it wasn’t for the clammy rain that never seemed to stop.  Varric swiped at his nose with an increasingly dingy handkerchief, shaking his head.  People liked this plant stuff, huh?  He made a mental note to consider Crestwood for a murder mystery setting.  Clearly a climate like this would leave people prone to committing homicide.  He trudged through the rain, mildly cursing the Inquisition as he went.  **  
**

But once he and Lavellan, Blackwall and Cole reached the cave, he minded the rain a hell of a lot less.

Min Hawke stepped out to greet them.  She squinted through the rain, her hair draggled, and though she shook the Inquisitor’s hand with a serious expression, she positively beamed when Varric walked up to her.

“Good to see you, Hawke,” he said, and he wondered if she could hear the weight of everything behind those words, if she could tell just how much he’d missed her.  

“Varric,” she said warmly, and she bent down to catch him in a fierce and bonecrushing hug.  “You’ll never know how good it is to see you.  Though, at least this time it was only a few weeks, not years, since last we saw each other.”

He hugged her back, resting his head against her chest.  “Missed me while I was in the Hinterlands, huh?  I know how it is, you just can’t get enough of me.  No one can resist the dwarf,” he chuckled, but hell, it felt good to hold her.  He lingered as long as she did.  The moment stretched beautifully.

“You wear the words on the inside, wistful, wishing, warm.  But words want to wander.  You want her to know,” said Cole behind him, and Varric froze before he abruptly dropped his arms and backed out of the hug.

Hawke straightened, frowning.  She glanced around them, then looked back to Varric.  “That’s odd.  Did you hear something?”

Cole stood next to Hawke, head tilted, his pale eyes hopeful.  Varric shook his head nearly imperceptibly, and the hope in Cole’s face shifted to disappointment.

“No,” lied Varric.  “I didn’t hear a thing.”

 

* * *

 

Cole’s words gnawed at him throughout the meeting with the Warden.  Varric remembered the man more for his reputation than his face, the Warden who’d run from the Fereldan kingship.  The last time they’d seen each other there’d been the smoke and blood of battle, the Arishok’s people swarming the streets and Kirkwall under siege.  Unfortunately, the Corypheus issue was unlikely to be resolved with a challenge to duel.  

His gut lurched unpleasantly for a moment, remembering Hawke impaled on the Arishok’s sword, the blood pooling from her gut wound and streaming down her leg.  She’d had to throw out those boots, they’d been so filled with blood.  If it hadn’t been for Blondie…

Never mind.  They could skip the duel this time.

Varric listened warily as Warden Alistair went on about problems in the Wardens.  Huh.  Maybe the Corypheus issue wasn’t  _completely_  on him and Hawke.  Still felt like it, though.

He and Hawke stood a little apart from the others.  Blackwall was hanging on every word from the other Warden, but Varric noticed he seemed uneasy, too; maybe it was just hearing about the ways their Order had fucked up, but Varric made a note of the way Blackwall fidgeted where he stood. Cole was skulking in a corner of the cave, apparently having found a nug that had been hiding behind a stalactite.  Stalagmite?  He could never remember the difference between the two.  Bartrand would have been miffed.

Varric stood against the wall of the cave, and Hawke stood beside him, nodding along with the conversation.  Varric’s attention drifted, and Cole’s intercedence rang again in his head.   _You want her to know._

Sure, he’d sent that difficult letter to Bianca a year ago.  Sure, Hawke left Anders six months before that.  Sure, the possible end of the world was at hand.  So what was stopping him?

“It’ll never work,” said Hawke, and it took him a panicked minute before Varric realized she was talking to Alistair.  Varric shook his head.  Shit, he really needed to get out of his head, didn’t he?  “Not without some backup.”

“What are you suggesting, Hawke?” asked Lavellan, crossing her arms.  Varric caught a glimpse of the Anchor, green light spitting from her palm.  He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to that weirdness.  

“We need to follow up on Alistair’s lead in the Western Approach,” said Hawke.  “But you can’t go alone.”  She gave the Warden a stern look.  “You need backup in case something goes sideways.  I’ll go with you.  If your information is right, we can send for the Inquisitor.  And if it’s not, she can still focus on closing these wretched rifts.”

“You sure about this, Hawke?” asked Varric.  “The Western Approach is a damn long way to go on a hunch.”

“I know,” she said.  She tried to smile at him, but it faltered.  “But I’ve got to do what I can, Varric.”  

“You always do,” he murmured, but he wasn’t sure she heard him.

 

* * *

 

Their band of adventurers stood at the mouth of the cave, watching the rain sheet down.  It showed no signs of letting up, and Namira Lavellan sighed, gazing out at the dreary sight.  “I know we can’t hang around this cave forever, but I’ve really no inclination to leave,” she muttered.

“At least we’ve Caer Bronnach now,” said Blackwall.  He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the hills.  “We ought to regroup there tonight.”

“Creators, I’d almost forgotten,” said Lavellan, pleased.  “I don’t mind the rain in an aravel, but shem tents are something else.  I’ll take a stone roof in this downpour over a tent any day.  You’re right.  We’ll stay there tonight, then we’ll be situated to take on the lake rift tomorrow, assuming we can fix the controls.”

“Dark and hollow, hurting,  _what’s happening to me_?” asked Cole.  “The sound of water, rushing, rushing…”  He shivered.  “It will be good to bring light into the dark places.”

“Right, kid,” said Varric, patting him awkwardly on the arm.  “Just take it easy.  We’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“Sounds like you lot have your work cut out for you,” said Hawke.  “Listen, Alistair, perhaps we ought to join them at the Keep tonight.  We can set out in the morning for the Approach.”

“I daresay it will be a sight nicer than this cave,” said Alistair wryly.  “Though I’ve started to get a bit fond of the place.  Well, I’ll miss you, drafty smuggler’s cave.”

They braced themselves and stepped out into the rain in single file.  Varric hung back with Hawke, bringing up the rear of the line, and he grimaced as the rain fell on his head like a hammerfall.   _We can set out in the morning._  Fuck.  “Listen.  Hawke.”

“Yes, Varric?” she asked, spitting out a sudden mouthful of water from a tree dumping extra precipitation on her.  She wiped her eyes.  “I  _have_  missed Ferelden, hard as it is to believe….”

“Find me later at the Keep,” he said.  He stared into the distance, focusing on one foot in front of the other, his boots squelching on the narrow path.  “Before you go.”

She was quiet for a moment, then she nodded her head.  “Of course.  Wouldn’t miss it.”

He bowed his head against the rain, his heart thudding in his chest, and he wondered if he dared not to be a coward.

 

* * *

 

Hawke very nearly did miss her meeting with Varric.

It wasn’t her fault, mind.  The stall-woman at the Keep had nearly finished putting up her wares for the day, and was none too happy about fetching them all out again for Hawke and Alistair, especially given the rain.  It took them nearly an hour to finish bargaining with the woman for supplies for the Approach.

She and Alistair did not speak much as they divided their supplies and headed back to spare quarters at the Keep.  At least there was enough roof space that they were able to set up their tents with some of the other Inquisition soldiers in a large hall with a solid roof overhead.  It wasn’t much for privacy, but then, what would she need that for?

She took a moment in her tent to pack her provisions and change into a fresh set of clothing.  Once she was changed, though, she found herself sitting cross-legged on her bedroll, gazing straight ahead, surrounded by the sounds of soldiers.  

Hawke sat with her knees held up to her chest, resting her chin on them.  The day had gone by so quickly, she’d barely had a chance to register things.  She closed her eyes.

She’d missed Kirkwall powerfully since she and Anders had fled the city, as soon as they had gotten word about a possible Exalted March.  She missed her friends.  She missed her dog, who she’d sent along with Aveline to look after Bethany.  She missed her sister.  Especially with what Alistair had said about the song, she missed her sister.  

“Take care of her, Aveline,” she muttered in the close air of her little tent.  Maker, she was frightened for Bethany.  She was frightened for Anders, too, but at a remove.  Nothing like the fear she’d felt for him in Kirkwall, again and again.

In the place where her worry for Anders used to make its home, she found her mind wandering to Varric more and more often.  When the letter came to a little town outside Ostwick, telling her a Seeker had come to Kirkwall.  When a hasty note that found her in Rivain told her he’d been taken, and not to come after him at any cost.  When a stack of letters arrived in Antiva City, telling her about the Inquisition and rifts in the Veil.  Worst of all had been after the Inquisition was chased from Haven.  Maker, how she’d feared for him….

And how good it had been to see him again, a reminder of her home in Kirkwall, a friendly face.  All the old in-jokes had been there like yesterday, new ones springing up just in the past few weeks they’d shared in Skyhold.  Things had almost felt like home again, just being around him once more.  Yet the Western Approach loomed before her, a land of stone and sun and desert, and there was a bad feeling deep in the pit of her gut.

She stared at her leather boots, and beyond them, the opening of her tent.  She needed to see Varric, even if a part of her was afraid.  Goodbyes were all the more real when they were spoken aloud.  

Then again, she and he were good at leaving certain things unsaid, weren’t they?

She got to her feet, and left her tent.

 

* * *

 

Hawke found him in one of the lesser rooms of the Keep, a small fire crackling in the hearth at the other end of the room.  Unfortunately, even the stone room wasn’t enough to keep out the downpour.  A steady drip went on in one corner, and she stifled a giggle as she saw him dodge a drop from the ceiling.  He sat on a sturdy box before the fire, a flagon of ale and a sturdy tankard resting at his feet.  In the corner he had a bedroll set up with his things spread out on the floor to dry.

“This seat taken?” she murmured, wiping her soaked hair out of her eyes with one hand.  It plastered itself to her cheeks and forehead.  She closed the door behind her, blunting the sound of the rain.

“What took you so long?” he asked.  “Come on, come in before you get pneumonia.”

“This is good solid Fereldan weather.  I’m fine,” she said lightly.  “I just had to stock up on a few supplies for my trip. It took rather longer than I thought.”

Varric nodded to the box beside him and she gratefully took the seat.  She reached up and wrung out her hair between her hands, then shook her head, water droplets flying everywhere.

“You sure about going out there alone?” Varric asked.  He looked uncharacteristically serious, almost troubled.  He rubbed his hands in front of the fire, frowning.

“I take it you don’t think a Champion and a Warden can handle themselves,” she said, but she knew that wasn’t what he thought at all.

“Come on, you know what I mean,” said Varric.  He smirked, but it was a shadow of his normal smile.  “I should be out there with you.  Corypheus is as much my shitpile as he is yours.”

For a moment wild hope seized her.  Yes; she could tear him away from the Inquisition, travel with him at her side, and after this was over, maybe –

Then she remembered how much she’d seen him doing in Skyhold.  Letters sent to contacts, meetings with various dwarven merchants (which he _hated_ , and yet he was doing it voluntarily!), researching new sites of red lyrium formation.  Inquisitor Lavellan gratefully telling her that Varric had been her first friend in the Inquisition, that he was an invaluable companion.  

She remembered that it wasn’t about what  _she_  wanted.  

“I know it, but you’re needed here,” Hawke said reluctantly.  She folded her hands in her lap, fidgeting with her fingers.  They folded together, apart, again and again.  “Believe me, Varric, I’d rather just stop moving for a while and take a  _break_.  I’d love to get to spend time again with you truly, and not just snatch these little moments between fits of trying to save the world.”  She blinked back tears.  “But the world needs us, doesn’t it?”

Water dripped from the ceiling between them, trickles splashing against the stone.  Outside she could hear it drumming on the roof.  For a moment, the sounds of water held them still.

“About that,” said Varric suddenly.  He shivered a little.  Maybe he was cold.

“About what?”

“This whole saving the world thing.  It’s come up a lot with you.”

“Kirkwall is hardly the world, contrary to popular belief,” she said.  Then she remembered Anders’ face that day, the sound his staff made against the cobblestones, the terrible light.  “I’m not sure I ever really saved it, anyway.  Maybe I just delayed the inevitable.”

Varric waved a hand.  “Don’t be modest, Sparrow.  You  _did_ save it.  Anyway, for all intents and purposes, Kirkwall’s the world enough for this talk.”

“This talk?”  She leaned toward him, concerned.  “Why so serious, Varric?  You can tell me.”

He took a deep breath.  Hadn’t she thought he was cold, a moment before?  Then why was he sweating, a dull red flush starting in his cheeks?  “Look, here’s where it’s gonna get weird, so just bear with me.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head, almost pleadingly.  

“What I mean to say is, you’re always trying to save somebody else.  You try  _so damn hard_.  But I –”  Varric’s hands lifted, opened, closed, opened in front of him, as if he struggled to find his words.  “I worry about you with shit like this, that you’re gonna get hurt, or worse.  And the world’s getting bigger and the shit’s getting weirder and more dangerous, and if something happened to you, Min –”  His voice cracked.  He lowered his hands into his lap and he looked at her, his hazel eyes hopeful and anxious both.  

She edged closer.  She could crack a joke.  She could step away.  She could suddenly find an excuse to leave.  

Instead she reached out, and laid a cautious hand over his.  His hands were trembling.  She stared at him, memorizing every inch of his face; the crows’ feet at the edges of his eyes, the way his lip tucked to one side, gray hairs at his temple she hadn’t noticed before.

When he spoke again, his voice was hushed, hoarse.  He gazed at her, then nodded, slightly, to himself.  

“I don’t expect you to feel the same way.  But I’m in love with you, Min.  So if you could do a dwarf a favor, and just… be careful out there.”

For a moment the words didn’t make sense.  She reeled, and the moments passed.

_In love with you._

Varric shook his head, getting to his feet and walking toward the wall, turning his back.  “Ahhh, I knew this was a shit idea.  Forget I said anything except ‘be careful,’ will you?”  

Hawke got to her feet, her heart pounding, her reverie broken.  “I will  _not_ forget, you – you –”  She closed the distance between them and grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him around to face her.  “You ridiculous dwarf!  I love  _you!_ ” she blustered, laying her hands on his cheeks and bending down to kiss him.

For a moment he was frozen against her, his stubble scratching against her cheeks, his lips warm and slightly parted.  Then his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer; his kiss was hard and desperate, his tongue slick, his breath caught in his throat in a faint and urgent groan.

She kissed him back just as desperately, her hands shifting for her fingers to tangle in his hair, pressing herself into him, panting with sudden heat.  She remembered too-late nights in the Hanged Man, the times he’d looked at her just a little too long, the times she’d looked back.  She remembered his blood on her hands in the dark, a gruff kiss on her cheek when she left Kirkwall, the letters that saved her in the lonely years she’d spent running.  She remembered  _just_ how good it was to see him.

Reluctantly she drew back, but she was rewarded with the first smile she’d seen on him tonight.  He beamed up at her, his face flushed.  “Noted,” he said shakily.

Hawke straightened up, clearing her throat, acutely aware of the sudden warmth between her legs and the fact that she was breathing hard.  She coughed delicately.  “So.  Ah.  I… As I was saying, I love you.”

Varric grinned, relaxing again.  “Glad to hear it, Sparrow.”  He chuckled.  “I have to say, kissing you is different from how I’d imagined it.”

“How so?”

“I always thought I might be able to stealthily find a flight of stairs to stand on, or something.  Keep you from getting a neck ache.”  He folded his arms, looking liar-serious.  

Hawke snorted.  “You really are ridiculous.  I hope you realize I’m perfectly capable of kissing you, stairs or no.”

“Good to know,” he said, winking.

“So how long?” she asked.  She started to head back to their seats by the fire, then reached down and took his hand, leading him back.  His hand felt solid and firm in her own.  She liked it.

He squeezed her hand as they sat back down, then scooted his box close to hers.  “Ah, it’s embarrassing.  You don’t want to hear about that.”

“So, loving me is embarrassing, is it?”  He looked stricken for a moment until she amended, “Joking, Varric.”

“Right, right,” he said, then sighed.  “Look, I’m terrible at this shit, all right?  I know I seem suave and debonair, but I actually have a crippling fear of rejection.”  He shrugged, laughing.   “Remember that night in the Hanged Man when I sang your song?  The one you and Sunshine used to sing?  That was when I realized it.  I don’t sing, remember?”

She cast her mind back, trying to recall.  “I… remember how pleased I was that you knew it.  And I remember later you said you were sick.  You went up to your room early and the rest of us stayed a few more rounds.”  She gasped, doing the math.  “Varric, you’re talking  _years_.”

A gentle wink.  “Told you I was terrible at this shit.”  He leaned in, pressing a half-cautious kiss to her mouth.  “But it’s your turn now.  What was it for you?  The chest hair?  The dashing good looks?  My incomparable wit?”

“I think it came on by degrees,” Hawke said honestly.  “You always looked out for me in Kirkwall, from the very beginning.  And yes, I’ve always loved your wit.  And your chest hair.  And your voice.  But I think it started before I left Kirkwall – before the Chantry.  I think I’ve been in love with you for some time, actually.  So I’m not very good at this sort of thing either.”  She kissed him again, sighing.  “Varric…”

“Yeah?” he asked, his breath warm against her cheek.

“I’m still leaving for the Approach in the morning.”

“I know.”  He closed his eyes, his face warm next to hers.

“This is where you’re staying tonight?”

“It is.”

“Does it have a lock?”

“…it… does…”

“I’ll get my things.”

 

* * *

 

The embers burned gold and scarlet in the fireplace, a bit of warmth and light in the small room.  It was enough to see by, but the shadows were deep on her skin, pooling beneath the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips.  She stood before him, climbing carefully out of the last of her clothing and letting it drop to the floor.  

“You’re beautiful, Min,” said Varric, and for a moment, he simply gazed at her in mingled delight and disbelief.  “I can’t say it any better than that.”  He pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it aside.  The room’s air was cold against his skin, but he did not falter; he stepped out of his trousers and smallclothes, his arousal straining towards her, and he hoped –

“Varric,” she whispered.  He could see the muscles of her throat working, half-lined in shadow.

“C’mere,” he offered, raising his arms.

They sank to the blankets together in a fierce embrace, kissing languidly at first, then more urgently.  She was warm and soft in his arms, but strong too; his hands and mouth could not get enough of her body, struggling to learn all of her. 

The sweep of her back, smooth and taut except for the ridge of a scar near her hip, souvenir of the battle against the Arishok.  The muscles of her shoulder and arm, flexed and firm and straining beneath his touch.  The hollow at the base of her neck, where his tongue swirled against her skin; he moved lower, tracing kisses around and between her breasts.  She moaned his name, bucking her chest against his mouth until he acquiesced and took her nipple between his lips.  She sighed and kissed his temple, his cheek, anywhere she could reach, and when she slid her legs between his, his cock ached at the closeness.

She was exploring too; she pushed him playfully back away from her breasts and investigated, her hands electric against him, fingers smoothing their way down his back, palms sweeping against his arms, pausing to stroke his chest.  Her mouth left his to line his jaw and neck with kisses, her tongue darting between her lips to touch his skin, again and again, and he groaned, hissing “ _Fuck_ , Hawke,” between his teeth.

“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” she murmured, and her kisses trailed further, down the center of his chest, making his way towards his belly, and  _fuck_  she felt good,  _fuck_  she surely wasn’t – she  _was_ – and her mouth on his cock was slick and hot and firm, and he tossed his head back against the blankets, panting.

But he couldn’t keep from looking at her for long, despite the unbearably wonderful things she was doing to his cock.  He raised himself on his elbow, and when she lifted her gaze to meet his eyes, her mouth still wrapped around him, it was all he could do not to come.  

“You’re incredible,” he said weakly, then sat up, stroking her cheek with a shaking hand.  “But I can’t let you have all the fun.”  

She slipped him out of her mouth – not without a long, slow lick up his length that made him whimper – and gave him a wicked smile, crawling over him.  It was an unbelievable view, her face above his, her breasts swaying with every movement.  “And what did you have in mind, Master Tethras?”

He moved unexpectedly, grabbing her by the shoulders and rolling her onto her side, half-pinning her.  She grinned at the sudden exchange, and he leaned down, murmuring into her ear, “Why, I’m going to make you come for me, Hawke.”  Her breath hitched in her throat, and his thumb brushed against her cheek before he offered his fingers to her.  She took them into her mouth, licked them slowly, one by one.

“I want to see you squirm,” he continued, his fingers lightly touching her breasts before moving further down, barely touching her belly, the insides of her thighs.  She did squirm, then, staring into his eyes, her legs trembling.  “I want to see how wet you get for me, Hawke.”  He slid one finger beneath her folds, and she groaned, curling against him.

“Maker’s breath, Varric – ah,” she sighed.  His fingertip worked her clit, small circles, gentle at first, then more insistent; her gasps were intoxicating.

“Fuck, I love the sounds you make.  Every little gasp, every little moan.  You’re so damned beautiful.  Especially the way you look with my cock in your mouth.  You felt so fucking good.”

Her legs scissored against his, her hips grinding against his touch.  Her eyes were closed, her mouth open as she buried her face in his shoulder, frantically kissing him.  “Don’t stop, Varric, please,” she begged.  

“I want to see you come,” he whispered, slipping his finger inside her.  She clenched around him, her ragged breaths loud in his ear as she ground down against him.  “I can’t wait to be inside you.  I  _need_ to be inside you.  I wanna come just imagining it, how wet and tight you’ll feel wrapped around my cock, that look on your face when I fuck you, the  _sounds_  you’ll make for me, Hawke –”

“ _Fuck!_ ” she cried, face contorted.  “Varric please, please don’t stop, fuck,  _fuck_  –”   And then she was silent, her mouth in an ecstatic O, clinging to him as his hand moved and her hips bucked and her legs quaked, and then she was suddenly limp and boneless and beautiful, gasping for air.

Varric kissed her, close to gasping himself.  “Shit, Hawke, you don’t know how amazing you are.”

She opened her eyes, smiling weakly at him.  “You bastard.  You brilliant, terrible bastard.”

“What?” he asked innocently, shrugging.  Then he kissed her again, and was gratified to feel her kiss back just as insistently.  

“I’ll show you,” she said deviously, then pushed back against him, rolling him to his back.  “You think you’re the only smooth talker here?”

“I don’t know,” said Varric.  “You seemed pretty satisfied.  Think you can top that?”

Hawke arched an eyebrow.  “For that pun, dwarf, you are in  _such_  trouble.”  She climbed atop him, legs spread on either side of his hips, and before he could say another word, she took his cock in hand and guided him in.

_Fuck._

She clenched around him as he thrust, then lowered herself so she could kiss the side of his neck.  He wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him.  She stayed there, hips moving against his, murmuring, “You’re going to come for me, Varric.  And you’re going to beg for it.”  

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he tried to say, but then she shifted her angle and he slid in deeper than he thought possible, and for a moment, all he could do was bite his lip and groan.

“You can’t stand it, can you?”  Her voice was hypnotic, husky, rich.  It wound into his ear, words dripping with want, and he had to admit, she was damn good at this part.  “How long have you wanted this?  My pussy wet and tight around your thick cock?  I love the way your cock fills me, Varric; love the way you move inside me, every thrust, every looong, slow, slide…”

He couldn’t speak.  Could barely think, could only  _feel_  – years of wanting and hoping and loving and wishing, all of it here, all of it her held in his arms, gorgeous and solid and real and riding him and he was going fucking crazy, she felt too damn good, too good –

“I love the way your cock feels,” she groaned.  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you, how long I’ve wanted you to fuck me?”  He thrust into her, again, again.  She wanted him, she wanted him  _too_ , and the way she felt was more than he could bear –

“Do you want to come for me, Varric?” she breathed, shifting her hips, grinding against him slow, slow,  _hard_ , letting him deep within inch by glorious, agonizing inch.

“Yes,” he gasped, eyes fluttering closed, hips bucking.  So damn close….  “Yes, please, Min.”

“Then fuck me,” she whispered.  “Fuck me, Varric, come for me, I want you to fuck me so hard, I wanna come for you, Varric, I love you–”

“Hawke, fuck, yes, yes, fuck,  _Min_ , please, Min –  _fuck_!”

And then there were no words, only kisses raw and needing, one of her hands on his shoulder, one twisted in his hair, her hips against his, and their joining a fierce and searing, brilliant burst.

They came back to themselves slowly, limbs clumsy, eyelids heavy.  Hawke rolled herself off of him, but burrowed in against his side; he draped an arm over her, feeling warm and sluggish and… and  _happy_.

“Wow,” said Hawke, kissing his cheek.

“Yeah,” he said.  “Damn.”

“I wish we’d done that ages ago,” she yawned.  “Your voice will be the death of me, Varric.”

“Then I’ll just never have to talk again –”

She snorted.  “Impossible, but also, please don’t.  That was incredibly hot, you realize.”

“I certainly hoped it would be,” he laughed.  “But you – damn, Hawke.  Just damn.”

Hawke hauled one of the blankets over them and snuggled closer to him.  “So, well done both of us.”

For a moment they were quiet.  The rain sounds had started up again, or maybe they’d been going on the whole time.  Varric was glad the room they were in was made of stone.  Probably had helped to muffle things.  Though if there was a guard on duty outside, maybe their shift had been made that much more interesting.

Thinking of guards made him remember what was ahead, though.  “So where do we go from here, Hawke?”

She thought for a moment.  “I go to the Approach in the morning, unfortunately.  But… if we find what we’re looking for, then maybe that will be enough.  Maybe I can join the Inquisition with you.”  She considered.  “And if we kill the shit out of Corypheus this time, we can return to Kirkwall.”

“Not a bad plan.  But you really want to stick with the Inquisition?”

“I’d prefer not to keep leaving  _you_  like this, you scoundrel.  Hope you don’t mind being stuck with me.”

“Like I said, Sparrow… I’m in love with you.”  He kissed her.  “Being stuck with you sounds perfect.”

“Love you, Varric.”  She was sleepy now, her voice growing thick with tiredness.  He closed his eyes, taking in the scent of her hair and skin, listening to the sound of her breathing mixing with the sound of the rainfall.

He could stay like this a long time, he thought.  A long time.


End file.
